


Awakening with You

by Ange_de_la_Mort



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Depression, M/M, Post-Fullmetal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa, mentions of one-sided Roy Mustang/Maes Hughes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ange_de_la_Mort/pseuds/Ange_de_la_Mort
Summary: Two years after Shamballa, Ed has found a way to return home, to make everything alright, to find love and rush into a relationship. But nothing is as easy as it should be, because Roy is distant, Ed is worried, and it takes one bottle of cheap whiskey and some shattered glass for them to even talk about their feelings.





	Awakening with You

"Roy?"  
  
Drowsily, Ed blinks into the darkness that's surrounding him. Something has woken him up. Some kind of noise. Perhaps the sound of a door slightly creaking, perhaps a branch knocking against the window from outside. Nothing earth-shattering. Neither the nightmares that have been haunting him ever since his childhood, nor the fear that sometimes takes his breath away in the middle of the night, like an invisible hand pressing a pillow on his face to suffocate the life out of him.  
  
Still, something must have been there ...  
  
In the darkness of their shared bedroom he cannot see a thing, can only reach out and feel for Roy, for the warmth he radiates, for the calming contours of his body that Ed sometimes follows with his fingers when Roy is already fast asleep. His hand always travels from his bony shoulder down over his arm, his side, his waist. Most of the time, he stops here and then snuggles up tightly from behind to put a hand on his stomach, pulling Roy close to him, because sometimes, it feels like Roy could disappear in the middle of the night, as soon as Ed lets go of him, could disappear like the flickering light of a candle when the chilly wind outside takes a hold of it to blow it out. Most of the time, he simply stays like that, lying with his face between Roy's shoulder blades, his nose buried against his skin or the fabric of his pajama shirt, his fingers above Roy's heart to count every single beat. The rhythmic raise and fall of his chest and his quiet, steady breathing are usually enough to calm Ed down, enough to keep the nightmares away and grant him the gift of another night of restful sleep.  
  
Sometimes his fingers don't stop at Roy's waist. Sometimes they sneak farther, over his hip and finally between his legs ... sometimes. Not anymore.  
  
They haven't done that in a long time.  
  
Ed usually sleeps long before Roy even goes to bed, and when he does, he's as quiet as a cat, so Ed doesn't never notices him flipping back the blanket and lying down. Ed wouldn't claim to be a deep sleeper, he hasn't been ever since his stay in Munich. And yet, he never notices when the mattress lowers under Roy's weight, when the bedding rustles quietly.  
  
He only notices that, whenever he wakes up in the morning, he isn't quite sure anymore whether he should be grateful that Roy is still with him - or melancholic, because Roy is with him but at the same time so far away from him, keeping his distance.  
  
Now, in this night, he only knows that he longs for the warmth that Roy's body can radiate although his heart may no longer do it. His fingers feel for the familiar, well known outlines of the warm body lying next to him. ... Or not. Because his fingers reach into the void.  
  
The bed is empty, the sheets clammy and unused.  
  
Ed sighs, suddenly feeling very tired again.  
  
_  
  
Everything could have been so easy with them, he sometimes thinks and then shakes his head at the thought. _No_ , he corrects himself inwardly. There is nothing _easy_ about them, especially not when they're with each other. They both have seen too much, done too much, so many things they regret.  
  
But it could have been so _beautiful_ with them both. It was, in the beginning.  
  
It took a long time, another two years, but Ed found a way to open the Gate without anyone having to be sacrificed. Without anyone else losing their limbs, their body, their soul.  
  
It took a long time, and what drove Ed to research at that time had been the melancholic, tired smile of the man whom Ed had thought for far too long that he hated. That they hate each other.  
  
But Roy had waited for him, waited all those years just to see him again. Ed is sure that Roy had wrestled with himself and his demons in this desolate, deserted solitude, even though he actually still doesn't know what these demons consist of.  
  
He doesn't even know whether they are any of his business. They never talked about it.  
  
Actually, in general they have always talked very little to each other.  
  
They may have gotten together much too hastily, moved in together, bought a small house on the outskirts of Central from almost two decades of military salaries. On the outskirts, because Ed can't stand the sight of a big city like Munich, because the hustle and bustle and the hectic, always jittery people remind him of the hunts, because to this day he avoids dark alleys where he can't see who might be waiting for him on the other side. Because Roy has locked himself in ice and snow for so long that they both thought it would be good for him to be surrounded by woods and meadows and open fields.  
  
Maybe it was too early for both of them. But maybe it just wasn't meant to be.  
  
Sometimes Ed wonders at what point it didn't work for them. And then he can't help but wonder whether it ever worked at all between them.  
  
Now that he's alone in the dark, staring at the ceiling without seeing anything, he's not sure.  
  
_  
  
He misses Al. He always does, but right now he misses him all the more. Maybe Al wouldn't know what he should do in this strange, sad, stagnant situation, but he would definitely be there to listen to him, to cheer him up. Maybe he would even threaten to kick Roy's ass hard.  
  
Ed smiles a little. Yes, that sounds like Al.  
  
However, Al isn't here. Al is in Resembool, with Winry, where he tries to be her apprentice and is taught how to make and maintain Automail. "So that I can at least help you the next time we're stuck in another world," he'd said, laughing as carefree as he always does when he doesn't want Ed to notice how worried he is.  
  
And yet it's actually Ed's job to worry, and it always feels strange to admit it, but his little brother has suffered as much from their life in Munich as he himself has. And that despite the fact that he always tried to keep all evil away from him.  
  
Nevertheless, Al has suffered just as much. In a world without alchemy. Without his memories. With a big brother who hated his useless prostheses and couldn't protect them with them.  
  
It made him strong. Independent and mature.  
  
Maybe that's why Ed misses him so much.  
  
Maybe he'll call him later. ... but then he has a lot to tell him, because Ed hasn't said a word about Roy's strange behavior so far. Either in an attempt not to worry him again or because he didn't want to admit that it doesn't work between him and Roy anymore. He can' t be sure.  
  
Ed sighs quietly and slowly flips back the blanket. Yes, maybe he will call Al later.  
  
But now ... now he will first try to kick his idiot of a boyfriend's ass himself.  
  
_  
  
Wearing shorts and a slightly too big shirt, which he borrowed from Roy's side of the bed (another proof that something's wrong: Normally Roy always folds his clothes meticulously and stows them away in his part of the dresser; not because he's just that tidy but because he's always trying and failing to educate Ed to be orderly with a good, temporary example. ... and Ed at least cleans up when Al comes to visit, that's enough), he slowly trudges down the stairs. His flesh foot complains every time it connects with a chilly step, but going back and putting on socks is out of the question now.  
  
In their small living room, everything is dark. But Ed can see a little light shining from underneath the kitchen door. Maybe that's what woke him up: the quietly creaking door, or Roy coming home in general.  
  
He always does that very late. Recently. In the last few weeks. As if he is trying to avoid Ed.  
  
Ed lets his shoulders hang as he puts his fingers to the door handle and pushes it down, unsure what to expect.  
  
_  
  
It'd be easier if Roy just cheated on him. With anyone; Havoc or Hawkeye or Winry ... although, no, the last one is too absurd a thought. Nevertheless, it would be easier for both of them to ... to end this. This thing they have with each other - or rather, this thing they don't seem to have anymore.  
  
But with Roy it's never easy.  
  
When Roy leaves the house, he usually does it without telling Ed where he's going. Sometimes he just walks past Ed, at most mumbling a barely audible "See you tonight", and reaches for his coat before closing the door so quietly behind him as if he were a ghost, as if he had never been there, an illusion, a memory of better times. Sometimes, he is so quiet that Ed can't help but wonder whether he imagined Roy's footsteps, his words. ... Sometimes he can't help but wonder if he's still stuck in Munich and just dreaming.  
  
That's why he kept sneaking up after him.  
  
It has been easy because Roy never takes the car they share. Instead, he simply walks through the streets, his hands in his coat pockets, his gaze absent-mindedly directed to the sky or into the distance.  
He'd almost gotten run over a few times.  
  
His way often leads him to Central Park, where he sits on one of the benches by the small lake, puts his arms on his back and stares into space. If Ed didn't know better, he would say that Roy is catching up on the sleep he can't get at night because he can't relax in Ed's presence, can't fall asleep anymore. But he knows better than that, because whenever he watches him, secretly hiding behind a bush, sitting like a stalker and staying there until his knees hurt, Roy's remaining eye is wide open, his gaze clouded.  
  
Often, his path leads him to the next pub, to cheap, secluded taverns where people don't know his name, where they don't exchange words with him other than "The same thing again?".  
Ed watches him here, too, hidden in a corner, at a secluded table. He watches Roy sometimes raise his head to look at a person sitting next to him, a person who doesn't exist, his mouth slightly open, as if he wanted to tell a story, ask a question. His gaze then always darkens and he lets his shoulders sink when he notices that he is all alone.  
  
Ed would love to join him, but he's afraid - no, actually he _knows_ \- that it's not his presence that Roy longs for.  
  
Sometimes, much less often than one might expect, Roy makes his way to the cemetery.  
  
Ed doesn't have to follow him to know what he's doing there, what he's saying, what he's thinking. He also knows that each of Roy's little trips - of Roy's permanent escape from being around Ed - has to do with this one place; with the man buried there.  
  
And there's another thing Ed is unquestionably aware of, as certain as the fact that the day follows the night:  He will never be like Maes Hughes. Not to Roy.  
  
He will never be able to compete with a dead man. He can only lose this unequal fight for Roy's love.  
  
-  
  
All these thoughts come to his mind as he slowly opens the kitchen door. All these thoughts and many more. They all fade away abruptly when he sees the blood, when he senses the smell of copper, tickling his nose.

Something's wrong!

He only notices the slumped figure at the table one heartbeat later, and although Roy looks like something a dog has buried and that, later, has been dug up again to be brought back to something similar to life through human transmutation, Ed feels a weight being lifted off his shoulders at the sight of him, safe and unharmed, and very definitely not bleeding to death-.  
  
At some point during the last few weeks, he has started thinking about what might be wrong with their relationship, while losing sight of the question of whether something might be wrong with _Roy_.  
  
They have both gone through hell and back, and in Ed's case one might even say that quite literally. But Ed also has Al, Winry, Resembool as a place to retreat to when everything is too much for him to bear.  
  
Roy has...  people who once were his subordinates. It's no secret that he cares about them a lot, but they have never been close enough to be considered friends or family, people to share his worries and secrets with. Ed has hoped that he would manage to be such a person for Roy, eventually, but they haven't been together long enough for that to happen. ... to be completely honest, they have only recently been able to be in the same room without wanting to get at each other's throats, so it is sometimes hard for Ed to see Roy as his _boyfriend_ , as the person with whom he wants to spend a significant amount of his life. So far Roy has been so much for him ... Colonel, friend, friend with benefits, asshole ... that the term _boyfriend_ seems almost too intimate.  
  
In return, he assumes that it is similar for Roy. He can't be quite sure what he means to Roy, not anymore, but one thing is quite clear: So far Roy has had only one friend in his life.  
  
Maybe Ed should start out as his friend. And save that friendship. Then they can think again about their relationship.  
  
As a friend, Ed closes the kitchen door behind him. "Hey," he says and observes their surroundings.  
Number one: Roy is definitely drunk, probably even wasted. Proof are the dark shadow under his remaining eye, the slight trembling of his fingers.  
Number two: The blood has to do with the sound that has woken Ed. On the floor lie the shattered remains of a cheap glass - Ed assumes that it slipped out of Roy's hand, which again suggests that he must be drunk; however, maybe he has thrown it on the floor out of frustration and rage, which somehow Ed couldn't blame him for, as he feels the same way every second day of his life -, the individual pieces of broken glass have been carelessly pushed together into a heap. He must have cut himself in the process. He's still bleeding, messing up the checkered tablecloth Havoc has shoved into their hands with a grin as some kind of moving-in gift.  
  
Yes, Roy is definitely drunk.  
  
"Sorry," Roy now says quietly, but with a surprisingly firm voice. "Didn't want to wake you."  
  
"You didn't," Ed lies and takes a step into the room. "I was awake."  
  
Roy smiles lopsidedly. "No, you weren't. I checked." Before Ed can reply, Roy nods towards the pile of broken glass. "Careful. Don't want you to get hurt."  
  
_Because you want to be the only one hurting?_ Ed dodges the shattered glass and joins him at the table. _Because you don't want to admit that you've been hurting me already? Because you don't see that I hurt?_ He doesn't offer to treat the cut. Roy doesn't ask him either. Instead, Ed hesitates briefly and then says, "Why didn't you come to bed?"  
  
"I needed to be alone."  
  
"You always do."  
  
"That's ... that's not ... " Roy sighs and drinks a sip of whisky. He doesn't seem to notice the cut. Maybe he just ignores it. Roy is good at ignoring things he doesn't want to admit - no one can testify to this better than Ed.  
  
Ed's gaze is caught by the bottle, which is filled to one third. A part of him now also desires a drink. The part that would like to grab and empty it completely.  
  
But the sensible part, the one he so often ignores, tells him that this may be the last chance, the only chance for them to settle everything.  
  
"I've been thinking a lot," Roy now admits without looking at Ed. After a few seconds he continues: "I've been thinking about Maes."  
  
_Of course you have_. The knowledge of having been right the whole time makes Ed clench his teeth.  
  
"And I've ... I've been thinking ... " Now Roy slowly lifts his gaze, exhausted, as if every word would tire him infinitely. "I've been thinking about leaving."  
  
It takes a few moments until Ed no longer feels as if he has been run over by a train. "Ah", is all he managed to say.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Why?" He swallows the rest of his question along with the bile that burns in his throat. "It's your house," he says instead.  
  
"Your brother already occupies half of it."  
  
Ed wants to smile, but the corners of his mouth seem as heavy as lead. The word is frighteningly on point. They have a guest room. Officially at least, because unofficially hardly anyone comes to visit them anyway, and if they do, they rarely stay overnight.  
  
Apart from Al. He spends so much time with them that Roy has made a joke at some point about them simply converting their guest room into a children's room for Al.  
  
Of course Al hasn't been a child for a long time, and at fifteen he's as old as he used to be when they first started their journey. But the joke had sounded good in Ed's ears - because it would have made him a big, protective brother again.  
  
The remembrance, this little something that belongs only to the two of them, almost makes Ed think that everything could still go well after all.  
  
Would it not be the fact that Roy wants to leave that would leave him - for good?  
  
"Is this supposed to be a consolation price?" he asks grimly. "Giving your house to me? Is that supposed to make up for all the time you -" Bile rises in his throat again. He swallows it hastily, clenching his hands to fists. No, he decides. He won't cry now, even if he feels like it. He will endure it. Talk about it. Be an adult. "For the time", he begins anew, pronounces the words that have been on his tongue for weeks, "you used me as a rebound for him?“  
  
Roy's eye widens. He grows pale.  
  
Looks like Ed hit the nail on the head. So he continues: "If you really want to leave me, then I'm not holding you back. But I beg you, Mustang, be honest with me just this once. Admit that you never ... " His voice fails, and he needs a moment to blink away the tears.  
  
Don't cry.  
  
Breathe.  
  
Be an adult.  
  
"Just admit you never loved me."  
  
There. With that it's out.  
  
He looks at Roy both tired and expectant, and although he knows better, he hopes that he is wrong. However, he is convinced he is right. ... he hates to be right.  
  
"Ed", Roy begins, but quickly stumbles over his words. While Ed is still thinking about how hard it must be for someone like Roy to tell the truth, Roy puts the glass down for the first time, yet still holds it clutched in his hand. He opens his mouth. And then he says, as hard and firm as only a colonel can do: "Have you lost your fucking mind?“  
  
Ed blinks. "Wait, what?"  
  
He must look insanely funny, because now Roy shakes his head and tilts it back, and bursts into harsh, almost too loud, too shrill laughter.  
  
Ed's ears are glowing with shame, although he doesn't know what to be ashamed of.  
  
"You dumb idiot," Roy finally says after the laughter has subsided. He's still staring at the ceiling. "I love you. Of course I love you. That's exactly why I need to leave."  
It doesn't make any sense. Many things Roy has done in the past have seemed pointless to Ed, but at some point the metaphorical mist covering the sense behind Roy's actions has always cleared. Not this time. This time Ed just stares at him with his mouth open and tries in vain to see the meaning behind the tactics of the man he always thought was a strategist. "... why?" he finally manages to say, barely more than a whisper.  
  
Roy looks at him briefly, but can't hold his gaze for long. "Because you're unhappy with me."  
  
Now, a short, humorless burst of laughter escapes Ed's lips. "Yeah, well, no shit, man. You've been evading me for weeks, you've been ignoring me, you-"  
  
"And I can't blame you for hating me."  
  
"Wait, what?" Ed says once more, confused by the change of subject, the shift of thoughts. "Roy, what are you talking about?"  
  
"I don't blame you", Roy repeats quietly, still staring at an undefined point on the wall. "I hate myself, too."  
  
Slowly the hairs on Ed's neck start to rise when Roy's fingers clench so tightly around the glass that a little of the liquid sloshes over the edge, when he understands that maybe this isn't about them at all, not about their relationship, but about something completely different. About the years that Roy has spent alone. During which he's been alone with his inner turmoil.  
  
"So you know what day it is, Ed?" Roy asks him quietly and then turns his head to him so abruptly that Ed flinches in surprise. "Do you know?"  
  
"It's ... Thursday. Roy, what-"  
  
"It's been four years since I let him die."  
  
Cold shivers run down Ed's spine. Roy's voice is hoarse, scratchy, as if he's done nothing but cry for several weeks.  
Probably he has.  
  
_That explains so much_ , Ed thinks and lets his shoulders drop, suddenly as exhausted as after an hours-long march in a hurry. It's not _his_ fault, Ed's fault, he didn't know, couldn't have imagined, that apart from grief there's something much deeper, much more vicious seated in Roy's heart and mind; something that devours him from within. He has had no idea that Roy might be anything but strong, anything other than a person who only thinks with his head and never with his heart.  
  
Nevertheless, he should have known. Somehow. Because he himself knows what it's like to live with guilt and never get over it (his mother's face still haunts him in his nightmares to this day).  
  
But Ed has Al, Winry, Resembool. Roy only has the demons that have never let him go. But Roy should have Ed. As a friend, boyfriend, companion.  
  
As Roy's boyfriend, he feels disgusted about how relieved he is that this isn't about them.  
  
As his companion, he feels guilty for not recognizing his grief.  
  
As his friend, he gently says: "You didn't let him die. It wasn't your fault."  
  
Roy snorts. "I couldn't save him. That's the same thing." His fingers cling to the glass even more, so much so that Ed almost fears it might shatter in his hand. "I couldn't save him. And Selim Bradley. I couldn't even save you."  
  
"You didn't have to. I'm here. I saved myself."  
  
"You shouldn't have _had_ to!" His voice tips over and he slams the glass so violently onto the table that another flush of liquid spills over his fingers and onto the tablecloth.  
  
Ed shrugs, but doesn't say anything about it. The tortured expression in Roy's eye prevents even a single word from crossing his lips.  
  
"You shouldn't have had to", Roy repeats more quietly now. His shoulders sag and he lowers his head. "You were my subordinate. Under my command. In my care. You were my responsibility."  
  
"I always was too much for you to handle," Ed tries to joke, but the corners of Roy's mouth won't even twitch a little. Ed sighs quietly and now he reaches out a hand to put it on top of Roy's to stroke his thumb over the back of his hand. Carefully, very carefully, he loosens Roy's fingers from the glass to look at both his hand and the cut.  
  
Roy's fingers twitch, but he doesn't pull his hand back, not even when Ed turns his palm upwards. Like so many other times, everything looks worse than it is; the wound has already stopped bleeding.  
  
Ed smiles slightly with relief. It's not all that bad. Everything can be fixed. Even them. Gradually. Somehow. "It wasn't your fault", he says again.  
  
This time Roy flinches and draws his hand back as if burnt. "Sure," he mocks and averts his gaze. "Tell that to yourself. Tell that to Mrs. Bradley." He works his jaws and gulps heavily. "Tell her it's not my fault I couldn't stop her husband from snapping her son's neck like a twig. Tell her that even though I was _right there_ it's not my fault that her son is dead. Tell it to Gracia. Tell Elicia she's gonna have to grow up without her daddy, but it's not _my fault_ , even though I should have been there to save him."  
  
Ed keeps silent for a moment, waiting to see if there'll be tears or if Roy has already shed so many of them that there's nothing left. It hurts to see him like that. That's not the man he fell in love with anymore - but it's still the man he loves.  
  
It hurts to see him like that. Because Ed himself has so many thoughts to fight with and often enough wishes that Roy could be there for him and drive away his fears, his guilt. Because Roy is so trapped in his own guilt that he can't even see the one Ed is carrying.  
  
But Ed has Al and Winry and Resembool. And Roy has ... not _nobody_ , that's what Ed realizes now. Roy has _him_. Roy _needs_ him.  
  
And sometime in the future, they'll have each other's backs again. He's sure of that. Maybe not now, maybe not even in a few days, but they're companions. Friends. Boyfriends. They'll manage.  
  
So he takes a deep breath and forces himself to smile a smile that promises all will be well. "I have," he says quietly and carefully, and when Roy actually looks at him for once, blinking without understanding, he repeats it: "I have. Talked to Elicia and Gracia. I spend a lot of time with them, as you'd know if you'd ever asked. They don't hate you, Roy. Nobody does. They - we - are all worried about you, but nobody hates you except yourself."  
  
For a second Roy seems to be at a loss for words, as Ed can see from the way he tenses up and claws his fingers into the tablecloth. But he catches himself very quickly and hastily shakes his head. "Don't ... don't try to -"  
  
"I'm not lying," Ed interrupts him. "I'm not lying and I'm not making things up to console you. You're my boyfriend, Roy, or at least I hope you still are, and I'd want it to stay that way. Why should I _lie_ to you?"  
  
No answer. For a moment it is quiet between them. Too quiet. Ed notices how Roy's gaze clears up for a moment, full of hope, and suddenly another shadow falls across his face, and how his shoulders, which had just moved up a few millimeters, once again slump down with defeat and exhaustion. Roy's lips are nothing more than a narrow, hard line, and Ed knows exactly what he's thinking about.  
  
_No. We're not gonna do that_ , Ed thinks and presses his lips together as well. _I'm not gonna let you beat yourself up again. Not now that I know what's wrong. I'm gonna fix this, you idiot!_  
  
"Hey", he says louder than intended. Harsher. But that doesn't matter, because now it's all or nothing. Now it's about _everything_. About both of them. "Hey, listen!" Again he reaches for Roy's hand, and although he feels a little reluctance, he doesn't let Roy get away from him, slip away from him, mentally and physically. "Listen, I know I didn't know Maes as well as you did-" It feels strange to pronounce the name. He's always been just Hughes, never Maes. It is strange. Almost as if, to Ed, a part of Hughes has become alive after his death as Maes for Ed.  
  
It's strange. It makes Roy flinch.  
  
"- but I know one thing," Ed continues, without giving both of them the chance to ponder it any longer: "He loved you. You were his best friend."  
  
"Yeah, and I -"  
  
"No!" Ed raises his finger as a warning. "Shut up, Roy, just this once!" Breathe. Think. And then: "Do you really think _Maes Hughes_ would ever want you to be sad?"  
  
Roy blinks. Looks at him frowning as if the thought has never occurred to him before. He opens his mouth, but Ed is faster:  
  
"Do you really think he could ever hate you?"  
  
Roy's mouth moves, but no sound comes over his lips. He presses them tightly together. He blinks. Looks aside. "I ... I mean ... "His fingers tremble. "I would."  
  
"This isn't about what you would do, Roy," Ed says gently and squeezes his hand. "Would he hate you? Would he ever be able to?"  
  
"I don't ... " Roy shakes his head, but whether it should be a no or whether he just doesn't want to answer, Ed can't say exactly. Finally he sighs and tilts his head back, almost as if hoping for an answer from the ceiling beams. "I don't know," he finally admits.  
  
And that's an important first step. It's not a "no" yet, but it's not a "yes" either.  
  
Ed nods and squeezes his hand again, smiles as Roy returns the pressure a little. And then says: "Do you really want to throw your life away for an 'I don't know'?" There's no answer, but even that is better than a "yes", so Ed nods again. "How about I take care of your hand, you come to bed now, and we visit Elicia and Gracia tomorrow?"  
  
"I don't think that's a good idea."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I really don't think they want to see me ever again."  
  
"How about we see about that and you stop deciding what other people will think of you?"  
  
Now Roy snorts quietly, but Ed thinks he sees a slight twitch in the corners of his mouth. Or maybe he's imagining it. "Maybe," he simply says.  
  
And since this "Maybe" is a lot better than anything else that has come out of Roy's mouth that evening, Ed knows that not everything is lost between them. That everything can be all right again. Someday.  
  
It is a start.  
  
He slowly gets up to get the small first aid kit out of the kitchen cupboard under the sink, and although he has his back turned, he feels Roy's gaze on him.  
  
"Ed?  
  
"Mhh?" he quietly mumbles as he reaches for a bandage and some disinfectant.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Don't. I was this close -" He rubs his thumb and index finger together without leaving a single inch of space in between. "- to call Al and let him kick your ass."  
  
A hoarse sound emerges from Roy's throat, and Ed hastily turns to him, worried and surprised, and it takes a moment for Ed to realize that Roy has slapped his hand in front of his mouth just laughing softly. It's been so long since Roy has laughed. A pleasant feeling spreads through Ed, and now he is sure that this is a very good start indeed, and that they will manage in time.  
  
Not now. Maybe not even in a few days.  
  
But someday.


End file.
